


Feeling Blue

by PrinceBirb08



Series: Chill Out AU [3]
Category: Just Shapes & Beats (Video Game)
Genre: Chill Out AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:20:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22893145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceBirb08/pseuds/PrinceBirb08
Summary: Fresh wakes up one morning to discover that he's taken on a new hue. Geometric chaos ensues.(Old fic!)
Series: Chill Out AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639861
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have the first few chapters of this story finished and ready to upload, but it's been on hiatus for a while. Depending on if you guys like it, I may get another chapter out by March.

**~Screaming into the night! No one understands me!~**

Fresh’s eye flutters open at the sound of the alarm clock. He lets out a long-suffering groan, eye squeezing shut as he pulled his pillow over his head, trying to block out the noise.

**~Howlin’ like the wolf! They will understand me!~**

The blaring alarm continues to scream the lyrics of his favorite rock song, which is quickly becoming his least favorite sound in the world as it loops over and over, attempting to wake him despite his willingness to return to his rest.

He’d been dreaming of a wonderful dimension of hot pink mayhem, but his illustrious visions were swiftly being dashed by the sound of his clock.

Letting out a final, defeated grumble, the pink shape lifted an arm, blindly swatting at the infernal device. He felt a vindictive smirk curve at the corners of his mouth as he heard the alarm crash against the floor with a resounding, dying beep.

His smile dropped, however, when he realized that he was fully awake.

Fresh sat up, stretching with a drawn-out yawn. He blinked groggily, eye darting around to find something mindless to occupy himself, at least until Blue came in to “make sure he did something productive.”

He internally sighed at the thought of the friendly cube, sliding out of bed. Blue had recently insisted on him getting out and socializing, if only to improve his overall mood. He had to admit, he was feeling quite pathetic after the last incident, in which he’d nearly repeated the infamous Treeangle Fiasco.

Fresh felt, dare he say, fondness for Blue. After all they’d done to accept and help him, the least the pink shape could do was go along with their benevolent efforts. He glanced around the room, trying futilely to recall any important events he had planned.

As he noticed the broken music equipment in the corner, he felt his heart skip a beat. He jumped to his feet, a cry of dismay escaping him as he made his way to the devices. Dropping to his knees, Fresh shakily brought a twisted pair of headphones to his ear, clumsily connecting them to the nearest music player.

He listened with baited breath for a sound… only to cringe and recoil as blaring, scratchy static greeted him.

Letting out yet another irritated groan, the pink shape tossed the broken headset aside, eyes scanning the pile for anything that looked remotely useful.

After his most recent incident, he hadn’t bothered to check any of his equipment, having received a “generous” day off from the facility he worked at. His music was really only needed on Saturdays, when the event hall would throw a huge blast of a party for everyone in Paradise.

How the hall could afford to do this weekly was beyond Fresh, but he seldom questioned it, looking forward to any time when he could comfortably interact with the public. In the flashing lights and flare of the stage, his aggressive magenta hue was cast in a more subtle violet shade, which was much more tolerable than corrupted pink.

Sighing softly, Fresh gathered up the most damaged of the equipment and preparing to haul it off to the nearest trash bin. He caught the scent of burnt wiring as he carried the devices, eye momentarily widening as he recalled fleeting memory of his impromptu rampage the week before.

After that stray Treeangle piece had essentially skewered him, he’d uncontrollably reverted to New Game form, blasting everything around him with violent rose energy in a raging panic. His poor music systems, being peaceful blue, stood no chance in the random onslaught.

Chuckling bitterly, Fresh walked to the kitchen, barely looking up from the load of trashed equipment to mutter a halfhearted, “G’morning, Blue.”

The quiet cube looked up from their breakfast, opening their mouth to reply. However, they stopped just short of a, “Hi, Fresh,” cutting off with a startled squeak as they locked eyes with him.

Fresh stopped midstep, blinking owlishly. As Blue continued to wordlessly sputter, the pink shape found himself frowning, his grip on the broken machinery tightening with anxiety.

“What?” he plainly asked.

Blue gaped like a fish. Shaking their head as if to rid themselves of their shock, they reached for the empty plate at Fresh’s spot at the table. Their hands were shaky, a fearful tint of pink beginning to race from their wrists as they held up the plate for Fresh to look at, to see his reflection in the shiny surface.

Fresh leaned over to see what the cube was stuttering about. He expected to see something on his face, or perhaps something stuck in his fangs. However, as he processed the image before him, his eye grew wide, and he deadpanned, “ **What?”**

His reflection was distorted at best in the plate’s scratched surface. There was even a tiny chip taken out of the edge. Nonetheless, the terrifying truth was easy to see.

Staring back at Fresh was a cerulean blue shape.

Fresh staggered back, nearly dropping the broken devices in his grasp. Displaying his perplexment, his catlike ears flattened, and he gave a shaky breath.

He set the pile of music equipment on the nearest counter, nervousness dripping from his tone as he stuttered, “B-Blue…” He looked at his hands, suddenly noticing that his normally dagger-like claws had become more rounded, harmless even. “Why am I **blue?!** ”

The cube stood suddenly, fidgeting. “I-I don’t know!” They flailed, their hands turning into buzzsaws with their panic. “I don’t know!”

Fresh jumped back, eye locked onto the spinning saws. He raised his hands in a defensive stance, lowering his voice. “Just calm down, Blue.” He sighed as the cube’s saw hands stopped spinning, relieved. “Maybe Barracuda can figure this mess out. He’s pretty ancient, so...”

Blue paused in their hysteria, a few tears welling up in their eyes. They sniffled, “Yeah… maybe.” They then recalled something, eyes widening for a moment as they reminded, “But they won’t just _help_ you. Not for free.”

Sighing, the formerly pink shape turned to pick up the load of broken equipment, absentmindedly picking up a piece of a DVD player. A thoughtful frown settled on his features, and he hummed in ponderment.

Without turning around, he chuckled, “Maybe the old triangle’ll accept a trade.”

* * *

The trip to the volcano was long and silent.

Fresh had opted to wear one of Blue’s oversized hoodies, not wanting to be recognized for his signature pink, spiky attire. He pulled the hood over his head so as to hide his face, his eye casting an eerie glow even in the morning light.

Blue was, honestly, a bit off put by the change in appearance, choosing to walk ahead a bit, if only to dissuade association. 

They pulled a small wagon full of broken music equipment. The wagon occasionally veered off the path, its poor wheels nearly knocked askew by the rocks peppering the ground. Like the two had planned, the spare parts would have to suffice in exchange for Barracuda’s help.

The grumpy shape was still quite irritated by Fresh’s presence, even months after the Treeangle incident. The trepidation surrounding Barracuda’s reaction to him now was enough to set Blue on edge, eliciting their fearful silence.

They refused to speak to Fresh for the entire trip, utterly lost in thought.

It wasn’t until they were standing at the base of the mountain that Fresh broke the stillness.

Quickening his pace, the formerly pink shape chimed, “Hey, Q-Bee?”

The cube halted, turning around slightly. Their eyes held a conflicted turmoil, the triangles above their head blinking intermittently, conveying their anxiety. They frowned, wordless.

Fresh took that as an invitation to continue speaking, his ears flattening as he shakily encouraged, “If this doesn’t work… you know it’s okay, right?” He chuckled bitterly, “I, uh… don’t mind.”

Despite themselves, Blue found a hesitant smile quirking at the corners of their mouth, and they hummed in acknowledgement, turning around fully.

“Right,” they whispered.

Fresh breathed a sigh of relief, although in truth, he was quite conflicted about everything.

If he remained blue, no one would have a reason to fear him; he’d be relatively harmless, just like any other blue shape. Stealing a glance down at his hands, he internally cringed, the other side of the argument teasing his nerves.

There was always a chance that this would be temporary, and just as he’d start to get used to himself, just as his so-called friends began to like him, he’d turn pink all over again.

He walked to the entrance of the volcano, crossing his arms as he looked up at it.

He huffed, “Alright. Let’s see how old Triangle’s feeling today.”

A mischievous grin replaced his earlier frown, and he drew back a fist. Blue backed up a pace, anticipating the worst. The glint in Fresh’s eye promised trouble, a fact that had been proven by countless incidents.

The formerly pink shape let out what sounded like a victorious war cry, his arm rocketing forward in a burst of dark blue light. The punch shook the volcano, some of the more precariously placed rocks being sent tumbling from the impact.

As he backed away, Fresh cupped his hands to his mouth and hollered, “Barracuda! Get out here!”

Blue sighed in a combination of relief and exasperation. It seemed that Fresh’s old, clamorous personality couldn’t be suppressed for long. Even the shock of possibly having his whole existence altered had faded with time.

The volcano shook once again as a long-suffering sigh rumbled from within. There was a glow of angered pink as Barracuda materialized at the entrance, glowering down at Fresh. The elder triangle’s glare softened, if only slightly, as he caught sight of Blue, a second, soft sigh escaping him.

“Fresh,” he deadpanned, before narrowing his eye. “To what do I owe this… _lovely_ visit?”

Fresh seemed to lose his previous enthusiasm, a small frown marring his features as Blue stepped closer, putting a hand on his shoulder. He huffed, pulling his hood down.

Gesturing towards himself, he chuckled bitterly, “Take a guess, pyramid.”

Blue quirked an eyebrow. In his usual magenta state, Fresh wouldn’t have hesitated to spit a nastier insult, although something seemed to be holding him back now. Even they could rarely stop the aggressive being’s outbursts, and given the circumstances today, he normally would’ve gone off on anyone in sight, regardless of his current incapacity to harm anyone.

Deciding to intervene before things _did_ take a turn for the worse, Blue vocalized, “Fresh had an… accident… a while ago.” They took a moment to find the proper words, fidgeting. “And this morning, he woke up all… _blue_.”

At the dreaded word, Fresh winced, seeming to draw in on himself. He shot a pleading look towards Barracuda, looking like a lost child in the pitiful moment.

Blue took it upon themselves to ask, “Can you _please_ help him?” They then sighed, more tears welling up in their eyes. “I know more than my share about going from pink to blue, but the other way around? No clue.”

Barracuda retorted, “That still gives me no obligation to help.”

Blue wilted, stepping back. They sighed, defeated, only for their eyes to widen as they recalled their wagon full of spare parts. 

Stepping aside so that Barracuda could see the load of devices, they offered, “What about these?” The elder shape’s eye seemed to widen, and Blue tempted, “There’s more where this came from.”

There was a moment of tense silence as Barracuda’s eye darted between the two shapes and the wagon, his expression twitching. He studied them both for what seemed to be an eternity, before his tense posture seemed to relax. He relented, stepping aside to allow Fresh and Blue to enter his volcanic domain.

“Alright,” he huffed. His single eye remained stoic, the slightest twinge of annoyance dripping from his tone despite his attempt to hide it. “Let us get this over with.”

The cube and the formerly pink shape exchanged nervous glances. Fresh in particular seemed to hold a deep anxiety in his gaze, his expression set into a deep frown. Upon closer inspection, he was even quivering slightly, the light in his eye seeming more vacant than usual.

Blue felt a twinge of concern, making a mental note to keep a closer eye on their friend, at least until this new issue had been resolved.

With a silent exhale, they followed Barracuda inside.

* * *

The volcano’s inner region was shockingly cool, given the fact that it was filled with magma. Granted, only a few pools of actual molten rock remained, most of the dangerous pink liquid having been purified into chilly, healing water by the power of the Treeangle.

Barracuda in particular seemed quite content with his abode, letting out a small sigh as he perched on one of the larger, rounded rocks. There was a dim rose glow as the being’s legs reformed into a serpentine tail, undoubtedly his more comfortable form.

“Blue?” he addressed Blue in a soft tone. His single eye narrowed as the cube perked up. “Do you mind explaining the problem? Aside from the obvious shift in hue… I see no issue with the menace’s current state.”

Blinking owlishly, Blue glanced at their friend, unsure as to what exactly was wrong. It only took a few seconds of inspection to see the biggest problem.

Fresh found himself becoming fixated on the glowing plant life that flourished around the edges of the obsidian stones, along the edge of a pool of lava. Kneeling to get a closer look, the formerly pink shape began to run his claws along the petals of the blooms, his gaze almost lost.

He dazedly picked one of the taller flowers, twirling it around his fingers before shoving it into his pocket rather harshly, moving on to another patch of blooms.

Blue watched his actions, frowning slightly. 

Pink was a naturally aggressive color. Even when used with the intent to aid, it often had less than helpful side effects. Even after their own purification, Blue often found themselves lashing out because of their corruption, having to keep a handle on their emotions at all times.

For a shape born pink like Fresh, this aggression manifested in personality, making it harder for him to find the positive side of anything. To Blue’s knowledge, he’d always been grumpy, pessimistic, and snappy, even before the infamous Treeangle Fiasco.

But now… he was acting like… any other carefree blue shape. Sure, other colors, like yellow and green, were kind, but blues were famous for their gentle, sympathetic demeanors.

Turning to face Barracuda, Blue huffed, “See?!” Crossing their arms, they added, “He’s… peaceful…” 

At the outburst, Fresh jolted, his ears perking up in shock. Eye wide, he turned to stare at Blue, his mouth set into a worried frown.

“Q-Bee?” he questioned, tilting his head. The vacant glaze in his stare seemed to diminish slightly as he voiced his concern, “What… what’s wrong with me?”

Both the cube and triangle exchanged glances.

There was a moment of tense silence as neither shape dared speak, the irritated twitch of Blue’s eye being the only form of communication. Finally, Barracuda sighed, straightening.

“While I can’t say that I know what’s wrong with him, I do know a shape that does.” His expression took on a tired look as he mumbled, deathly quietly, “Lycan.”

The Treeangle shards above Blue’s head flicked backwards in confusion. They hummed in confusion, “Lycan?”

Only Fresh seemed to share Barracuda’s caution, his features contorting into a frightened frown. Even in his hindered state, he found the sense to jump to his feet, scrambling as far away from the lava pool to cower behind Blue.

Voice quavering, he pointed towards the lava, “Lycanthropy!”

“ **_That’s right_ **!” A shrill voice shrieked in utter, manic glee, the lava spraying as a spiky shape burst from the depths of the volcano. 

Shrouded by smoke, they landed with a squeaky grunt, cackling shrilly. Looking up at the terrified shapes before them, they parted the haze with a flourish, revealing themselves in all their hot pink glory.

The newcomer shape seemed to be one of the common cactus blossom creatures, a type of shape that Blue had seen fairly often. This one, however, was far more fearsome, with deadly claws and fur that stuck up like spines.

It seemed like plain common sense to be afraid of such an individual, the cube supposed. However, they had a feeling that the disdain went far deeper than intimidation. Even Barracuda seemed a bit unnerved, although the bulk of his discomfort seemed to be from pure resent.

Blue took the risk and spoke up, “Are you… Lycan?” They felt Fresh shudder behind them, unconsciously shifting their arm into a large claw to shield him.

The strange blossom cackled, taking a step closer. They snapped their gaze towards Barracuda, snarling. “So the old snake is a gossip, too?” Shaking their head, they snickered, “I guess you need a proper introduction.”

Threatening pink light filled the volcano as the wolfish shape leapt up, lava spraying upward behind them. The distant sound of bass-heavy music rang out.

Blue tensed; it seemed that this shape had come for a fight.

“The wolf, the myth, the stuff of _your nightmares_ , haha~” They held up their claws in a threatening pose. “ **Lycanthropy**! That’s me!”


	2. Chapter 2

The familiar beat of Lycantropy’s song thrummed in the air. Lava spewed from the craters beneath them, an inferno of liquid flame searing all that it touched. The corrupted blossom thrived in the heat, however, their spiky fur bristling with excitement.

It was a setup for a true battle, the threatening song shaking the very ground with a bass-heavy beat.

Blue stood their guard, their claw-arms tensed. They didn’t want to fight, but…

The wolffish blossom cackled, “This oughta be fun, heehee! I haven’t had a real fight since that little square.”

Blue felt Fresh shudder behind them. They stole a glance behind themselves to flash a reassuring smile, although they couldn’t hide their own nervousness. Tears had welled up in his eyes, and his gaze had adopted a haunted, distant glaze. He was lost in bad memories, fearful of the enemy before them.

Before the cube could react, Lycan suddenly pounced. A spray of lava followed them as they rushed forth, claws outstretched. The cube sidestepped narrowly, yet Lycan seemed to foresee this, catching their arm in a painful grip. They dragged Blue down with themselves, sending them both tumbling towards a pool of lava.

Painfully, pink raced up the cube’s arms. Lycan could no longer harm them with their powers, but the lava was hot enough to singe.

Fresh leapt to his feet, rushing to catch them. “Blue, no!” He managed to narrowly grab the edge of their jacket, the fabric snagging on his claws. Lycanthropy was sent flying from the inertia, nearly landing in the lava only to catch themselves on a nearby rock. A relieved sigh left Fresh, and he stood, approaching the wild blossom.

Blue stood shakily, a frown spreading across their features. Some of Fresh’s normal demeanor seemed to return as the formerly pink shape made his way towards Lycanthropy, his eye glowing in anger.

He stopped when he was only a few inches away from the blossom, casting a threatening shadow over their form. Even in his harmless, blue state, he still gave off an aura of danger, showing that, although he couldn’t hurt anyone with magic, he was willing to put up a fight.

“Now, listen, you spiky mutt,” he hissed. Lycan scrambled to their feet, their ears flattening in fear. Fresh’s voice lowered to a gravelly snarl as he continued, “Blue didn’t ask for a fight, so-”

“ **You’re one to talk, cyclops!”**

He was cut off as Lycan suddenly pounced forth, screeching. Their music blared with violent intent as they clawed at their opponent. Eye wide, Fresh scrambled backwards, hollering. The pink blossom’s very touch hurt, and not just from their spikes.

Each inch of his form burned from the mere contact, and he suddenly knew exactly how Cyan felt. As a blue shape, he was now deathly vulnerable to pink. Startled, he managed to throw Lycan off, landing a solid punch to the creature’s midsection for good measure.

The beastly blossom was sent flying, slamming against a stalactite before tumbling to the cave floor, crumpling like a battered insect. As suddenly as it had began, the music faded out, stuttering like a broken record before dropping into silence.

Blue watched, tense, wondering what would happen next. Fresh scowled down at the defeated blossom, although he made no move to attack, his offensive stance dropping.

After a moment, Lycan twitched, groaning. “You… you’re in for it…” Their voice shook, muffled. “When I stand… up…”

They attempted to stand, to be stopped by a hand. They looked up, seeing Barracuda looming over them, a haunted look in his eye. 

Voice low, he breathed, “That will be enough, Lycan.” His tone dropped to a low, warning inflection. “There is no need to fight.”

The blossom opened their mouth to retort, although the snake-like shape’s glare was enough to subdue them. Growling, they relented, allowing themselves to be picked up by the triangle, held in their arms like a doll.

They pouted like a petulant child, ears flattening against their head. Barracuda slithered back to his previous perch, mirthful glint shining in his eye.

He turned to look at Blue. “I apologize for Lycan. They get very… fiesty around visitors nowadays.” He added with a small growl, “No thanks to your friend.” A slight concern filled the triangle’s voice as he looked over at Fresh, who seemed to be staring into space again, his anger having worn off. “Speaking of the nuisance, are you alright, Fresh?”

The formerly pink shape failed to respond. He stared towards the wall where he’d thrown Lycanthropy. Still as a statue, he seemed to be focused on his own arms, his gaze darting between the singed wall and his hands.

Worried, Blue called, “Fresh…?” After his momentary return to normal, the idea of a relapse made the cube nauseous. 

The magenta tint that had previously spread up their limbs retreated, banished by their normal, nervous blue shade. Approaching Fresh slowly, they tapped him on the shoulder, slowly turning him around, hoping that his gaze would be filled with something other than a lost, empty glaze.

What they saw was much worse.

Even Lycan could be heard gasping as the formerly pink shape turned around. His eye was watery and wide, a deep fear clear in his gaze, which Blue followed to see his arm.

A spiderweb of fractures lined his arm, like a network of broken pieces. The fissures glowed very faintly, sizzling with fresh, magenta energy, energy that had burned and broken that part of Fresh’s form. The breaks started at his palms, racing up to his elbows like gauntlets of pain.

Eyes wide, Blue held their friend’s damaged limb, careful not to aggravate the wounds. Filled with concern, they questioned him, “Are you okay?” The answer was obvious, but they felt it was a nice sentiment. 

They gently guided Fresh by the arm towards one of the larger, rounded rocks, where Barracuda leaned forward to inspect the injuries. 

Still cradled in Barracuda’s arms, Lycanthropy piped up, “He’s definitely not okay,  _ heehee _ !” Their voice became squeaky with sadistic glee as they cheered, “He’s gonna shatter, he’s gonna shatter!”

That earned them a passive-aggressive pluck in the ear by Barracuda, who glowered down at them before returning his gaze to Fresh. He tilted his head, eye narrowing.

The triangles above Blue’s head tilted downward, flickering in fear. They voiced their anxiety, frowning. “He’s not going to…” They couldn’t say the word without breaking down, but Barracuda seemed to understand, shaking his head with a sigh.

“Of course he’s not going to shatter. It took your small square friend at least three good hits to break, right?” At Blue’s nod, the elder triangle hummed, “Then Fresh will be fine. His body is just adjusting to being blue, that is all. As long as nothing else happens, he will recover.”

Lycan took the opportunity to scramble onto Barracuda’s head, batting at his face with their pawlike hands. “You know I’m gonna make trouble for ya, kitty cat!” They kept cackling even as Barracuda grabbed them again, holding them in a restraining bear-hug. “Serves him right, serves him right!”

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Barracuda addressed Blue again, his tone mildly irritated. “It appears to be obvious that neither of us can help much.” He ‘stood’ to his full height, slithering over to eye the wagon full of equipment that Blue had brought. “So… now that both parties have done their part… you may leave.”

Blue felt their cheeks flush with annoyance. Crossing their arms, they growled, “We just got here, though!” They reached for the wagon with an indignant huff, only for a group of Barracuda’s snakes to block the way, hissing. The creatures had materialized from a bright magenta magic, their glow resonating with a threatening aura. Blue looked back to the triangle, arguing, “All you did was hurt Fresh!”

Barracuda hummed in mild amusement, “I helped to the best of my ability, little cube.” He chuckled darkly, his eye glowing in the dim light, “And I refuse to let you leave without payment.”

The cube lingered, glaring at the constructs, although they ultimately relented, grabbing Fresh’s hand and beginning to drag him out. “If you can’t help us,” they started. “Then so be it.”

They stormed out of the cave, already feeling their internal power spike with anger. It was a minor anomaly, although the cube wanted to leave as soon as possible, lest they cause another battle.

They weren’t entirely sure how much more they could take before breaking down, their nerves on edge from the situation itself. Fresh didn’t seem to notice the slight shudder of their arms, too focused on his own predicament to care.

Blue felt a twinge of sympathy for him; unlike Cyan, who was used to being thrown around, Fresh’s only experience with being almost shattered was during the incident. Fueled by nothing but rage and leeching off of the Treeangle’s power, the tyrannical shape had attempted to blast Cyan into oblivion.

It had been a miracle that the little square had survived, even with their odd ability to rewind time, to defy death. In retaliation, the empowered square had given Fresh exactly what he’d dished out, cracking his fearsome Annihilate form like an eggshell.

As they exited the recesses of the volcano, Blue breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be free of the lava-spewing cavern. They glanced over at Fresh, who seemed to be lost in thought, cradling his injured arm.

Before they could ask if he was okay, however, the formerly pink being spoke up, his voice airy. “This is hopeless.” His catlike ears had folded back, showing his despair. There was a quiver in his tone, his eye watery and unfocused as he whispered, “Let’s just go home, Blue. No one’s going to help us.”

Blue shook their head wildly, crossing their arms. “That’s not true, and you know it!” They scowled, disappointed with their friend’s desolate attitude. “You’ve proven more than enough times that you don’t just give up when someone tells you no.”

That seemed to strike a chord. Fresh looked up, his frown twitching. The light in his gaze seemed to reignite, if only for a second, before he looked away again, sighing. “You don’t have’ta remind me, y’know.” He hugged himself, voice wavering. “I’m stubborn, yeah, but… I think it’s time to throw in the towel on this one, Q-Bee. I’m just blue forever, now.”

Fresh felt as shards of his body flaked away, watching with dim eyes as his very form glitched out and cracked, hair-thin fissures spreading across his arm. It hurt to move, and each sting of pain sent a wave of guilt rushing through him. And yet… he could only watch, powerless to stop it.

He’d broken and corrupted countless other shapes during his rampage. Cyan still didn’t trust him, and Lycan’s friend, Leyland, that poor cactus whom he’d battered for no reason other than the fact that she was in his way, was still terrified of him.

He’d scattered the shards of helpless shapes in a path of destruction, leaving deep scars, both physical and emotional, that would never heal. Even those who had just been corrupted still held echoes of their tainted powers, including Blue.

To him, it felt like retribution to be subjected to a powerless existence.

Voice soft, Fresh restated, “It’s fine, Blue. Like I said before, it’s probably for the best.” He averted his gaze, trying to hide the tears in his eye. “At least I can’t hurt anybody anymore.”

There was no answer besides the faint whistle of the wind. Confused, the formerly pink shape looked up, expecting to see Blue frowning at him, preparing to scold his attitude again. Despite their own easily saddened disposition, the cube always tried to cheer him up, if only to see someone smile. The lack of retort puzzled Fresh, but when he looked around, he realized the reason behind the silence.

No one answered him… because Blue had already left.

No one was there, and Fresh was all alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm... And a POV shift to Cyan for a chapter! What fun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have ready to go. Sorry in advance for the wait...

Cyan stared out the window, watching the rain fall with a bored expression. They were pretty much infamous for their restless demeanor, often finding little amusement in the mundane.

Ever since the Treeangle Incident, normal problems tended to tire them, and they often sought more intense issues to solve. They were a “hero,” after all.

So, when a mysterious new shape showed up, begging for their help, they’d initially been ecstatic to help, if only to find something to do. They’d expected to have to fight a monster, or perhaps rescue a lost shape. Maybe the task would involve a big bad boss…

Prior to meeting with the strange shape, Cyan had pictured a multitude of possible missions.

Sitting in a cafe, listening to an eccentric researcher’s rants, however, were not part of those missions. The odd, violet shape had appeared out of the blue. She called herself, “Composer,” claiming to be a music note, supposedly one of the most powerful types of shapes. If Cyan thought back far enough, they could faintly recall reading about shape power in the distant past, when they’d been more inquisitive, and they’d never read about any music notes.

In terms of power, polygons such as squares and triangles were the strongest. Rounded figures, like circles, typically fell in the middle. Lastly, organic shapes and silhouettes were the weakest, only having access to a few powers, if any. 

So, Cyan severely doubted Composer’s credibility.

The heroic square’s attention was piqued, nonetheless, when the purple note brought up the topic of a “pink menace.” Now that was their kind of quest. A tiny, tentative smile quirked at their features, although one factor bothered them deeply.

Careless about how rude they were being, the square cut off Composer mid-sentence, their tone lilting with curiosity.

“Hold up… what was that about pinks?” They tried to keep the nervousness out of their voice as they added, “Those aren’t a problem now, right?”

Composer eyed them oddly, and for a moment, Cyan was afraid that she’d scold them for their ignorance. They were the so-called hero of Paradise, after all; it was kind of expected for them to know about potential threats.

Much to the square’s shock, the music note only smirked, seemingly satisfied with her superior knowledge. Or perhaps, she just wanted the excuse to keep talking, influencing her audience with her opinions. 

Regardless of the reason, her smile sent a chill up Cyan’s spine, and they fidgeted under her gaze, taking a shaky sip of their hot chocolate. The rich drink was ice cold by now, but the square took a sip every few minutes, if only to please the shape who’d paid for it.

“I thought that would wake you up.” Composer’s voice was cool, controlled. She had command over the conversation, and she seemed to know it. She reached into her portfolio, retrieving a plain-looking pamphlet. “I had a mission in mind, an objective that I assumed you could tackle quite well. This should explain it well enough.”

Cyan reluctantly accepted the booklet, beads of glowing sweat sliding down their face. Their unease was betrayed by the shake of their hands as they turned the brochure around, staring at the covers.

It was unassumingly simple, a plain grey pamphlet with pinkish accents. The title revealed little to nothing of the leaflet’s contents, which Cyan was honestly afraid to discover.

“ _ Guide to Hue _ ,” they read aloud. Their eyes briefly darted up to glance at Composer. She kept smiling, smug. “ _ A cohesive enchiridion on the subject of natural light, beat magic, and the Treeangle _ .”

They internally sighed; this would take awhile to digest. As a shape with a fast-paced life, the square seldom bothered with the minute details of things. But with the way Composer was eying them, they felt obligated to at least try to understand.

Cyan flipped through the booklet, skimming through the paragraphs. They felt their boredom increase as they came across several large, complicated phrases, words that made them stop to think, to dredge up whatever education they may have received at some point.

It didn’t help that they couldn’t recall much from their past. Before the famous Treeangle Incident, the heroic shape had been a fairly nomadic being. Surely they’d, at one point, been a normal shape, with a mortal existence, until they had been shattered.

Their old life vanished from memory, and because of their tendency to move from place to place, no one knew them well enough to remind them of their original self. Spontaneously resurrected by the light of the sacred structure itself, they chose to stay in Paradise to watch over it, like an odd, symbiotic guardian.

Cyan’s mind wandered, lost in thought, and they eventually lost focus on what they were reading.

It wasn’t until they came across a paragraph that caught their eye that they snapped out of their musings. They silently read, “ _ The tint of magenta was banished from the rainbow centuries ago. Feared for its deadly power and inherent aggression, the power was expelled, and the pink color of Paradise began to die out… _ ”

Cyan looked up at Composer. Seemingly bored of watching them read, the music note had turned her attention to the actions of the other restaurant patrons, watching them with a scrutinizing eye.

The square followed her gaze to where two shapes sat, near the front of the cafe. They recognized one of the shapes as Lycan, instantly able to tell by their spiky, pink fur and loud, boisterous tone. Lycan was accompanied by their sister, Wolfie, a greenish, mild-mannered blossom who worked at the same event venue as Fresh.

Shockingly, Lycanthropy didn’t seem to be doing anything wrong. They were seemingly content, and judging from the lack of lava, that didn’t seem to be changing anytime soon.

Composer’s smile twitched as she eyed the two shapes, her gaze flickering with a peculiar glimmer. “Such a shame.” She subtly gestured towards the blossom pair. “Even the unassuming blossoms can be twisted into absolute monsters.”

Cyan raised an eyebrow, puzzled. They voiced their confusion, “Lycan? A monster?” A slight smile quirked their features as they shook their head. Sure, the blossom could be erratic, maybe even violent, but they weren’t evil in the slightest. “I think you’re confusing them with another flower? Lycan’s not the only corrupted one…”

At that, Composer turned back to face the square, her smirk completely dropping. She took a sip of her coffee, a judgemental glare landing on the other shape, making a chill go down their spine.

“All corruption is evil.” Her voice was venomous. “It may not be obvious at first glance, but the potent nature of the corruption’s hue only makes it worse, makes it spread.”

“They may still be pink, but they’re not a bad person.”

“You misunderstand. Pink is inherently volatile.”

It was at this point that Cyan felt their anxiety skyrocket. They frowned, shaking their head in strong disagreement. They stood, collecting their things in preparation to leave.

“Actually, I feel like you’re the one misunderstanding things.” They gestured at Lycan, huffing. “Pink may be a bit scary, and I get where you’re coming from, but…” 

The heroic square’s hackles rose with their anger. Frustrated sparks jumped from their form, which Composer stared at, her mouth agape in a small, “o.”

Cyan finally found the words to convey their irritation, their voice going shrill for a moment as they growled, “The danger is gone. Magenta, pink, rose, whatever you want to call it. It’s okay, Composer. No one’s evil anymore.”

Composer stared at the frustrated square for a long time, her expression blank. Her violet gaze bored into the hero, nonetheless, and her mouth slowly curved into a tiny, almost disappointed frown.

She finally let out a small sigh, looking out the window with that same, empty stare.

“I am… discontented… with your failure to understand my plight.” Her tone dropped to a condescending hum as she continued, “I should have realized that such an altruistic shape would become biased.” She then smirked, briefly turning to lock eyes with the other shape. “Although, I imagine it must be hard for a shape who was shattered to remain this way.”

Cyan staggered away from the little booth, their expression set into a grimace. Their eyes were wide and almost teary, and the sparks around their form began to intensify in severity. Crestfallen, the blue square found themselves unable to process Composer’s words, the pamphlet clutched in their grasp in a vice grip.

Backing away, Cyan added one last time, “You’re wrong, Composer.” Their tone was resolute. “The corruption is gone.”

With that, the heroic shape left the restaurant. They didn’t even stop to look back as they heard Composer chuckle, nor did they wave at Lycan when they passed. Their mind swam with conflict and anger, bitter feelings that they struggled to subdue.

Opening the door, they halted for a mere moment before breaking into a dash, sparks of blue energy buzzing around their form. They were nothing more than a blur in the dull morning sky, shining brighter than the sun as they rocketed through the air.

Normally, their dash was their favorite ability. They didn’t need wings to buzz through the air. They could just take off, propelled by beat magic. Cyan may not have had much power in terms of offense, but when they dashed, they were invincible.

Quite literally, they might add. For some, miraculous reason, the square’s dash ability was able to zip straight through solid matter, but only for a few seconds. It had saved them quite a few times during some harder fights, when the attacks became too overwhelming to weave through normally.

Right now, however, Cyan wished they could dash to escape their emotions. They clenched their fist, further ruining the pamphlet that Composer had provided them. They didn’t even want to read the blighted packet, afraid to find more of her ludicrous drabble inside. The music note was insane if she thought pink was still bad.

To Cyan’s knowledge, much of the “curse” surrounding pink in the first place had been lifted when they purified the Treeangle. It was still potent, still aggressive, but it was no longer corruptive and evil.

Some blossoms even started popping up naturally pink. It was more of a pastel rose, but pink nonetheless. This solidified the fact that magenta was part of the Treeangle’s light once again, at least in some capacity.

Cyan squeezed their eyes shut as they flew, angrily wiping tears from their eyes. They could get so worked up over this stuff, it irked them to no end. It wasn’t their fault that they were sensitive, but no matter how they tried, bad situations typically left them in tears… and yelling. Which wasn’t exactly a shock, given that they spent most of their time with Blue.

In their blind flight, Cyan didn’t even notice as another shape flew right into their path. Unable to see where they were going, they collided right with the other shape. A startled scream rang out, both shapes panicking.

Cyan’s eyes snapped open, and they flailed, their dash halting midway through. Backing away, they tried to identify who they’d run into, indecisive over whether they should yell or apologize.

However, as they surveyed the other flustered shape, it became clear that this wasn’t someone they were familiar with. For a moment, they thought it was that pest, Fresh, but the stark contrast in hue was enough to dissuade the association.

The overall build was similar, but this strange being was peaceful blue, for one thing. Like Fresh, he had catlike ears, although they drooped with anxiety, twitching intermittently. He stared at Cyan with a single, teary eye, his expression quivering as if he was trying not to cry. And instead of the vest and spiked collar that the pink menace loved, this frightened shape was wearing a simple, soft blue hoodie.

Awkward, Cyan choked out an apology. “Oh… s-sorry. I, um… didn’t see you there.” The newcomer jolted at their words, then averted his gaze, crossing his arms. Cyan hurriedly added, “I don’t think we’ve met. Sorry if this wasn’t the best first impression… I’m Cyan.”

They held out a hand to shake, uncaring of the fact that the both of them were currently suspended about fifty feet in the air. It was never too late to make a good impression. Most of Cyan’s best friends had been made in the heat of battle, or rescued from a chaotic situation. In those moments, the very extremes of their personalities had been on display, yet they were a tight group to this day.

However, the nervous Fresh lookalike didn’t seem particularly keen on making friends. He forced himself to accept Cyan’s hand, using his other hand to wipe away his tears. In terms of personality, the shape was nothing like Fresh at all. Instead of impulsive and rude, the newcomer was timid and fearful, his gaze darting around as if something was out to get him.

“M-my name is…” He hesitated, almost thoughtful. He caught sight of his own arm, his gaze lingering on the blue glow. Shaking his head, he looked back to Cyan, then continued with more confidence, “My name is Chill.”

Cyan nodded happily, glad that the mystery shape was opening up a bit. They laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood, looking around.

“So, are you new to Paradise?” They started to descend, beckoning the new shape to follow. “I mean, you didn’t know me, and I’m pretty famous around here, not to brag.” 

He perked up, quickening his pace, although he still seemed a bit shaken up, wobbling in the air. Levitation of any capacity wasn’t that uncommon, but not many shapes could keep it up outside of a battle. Chill touched down softly, eying the grass. Cyan lingered in the air, floating in lazy circles around the other shape.

They repeated their question, “Did you just move here or something?” Something about Chill seemed familiar, yet strange, like a sense of Deja Vu. 

“No. I just… don’t get out much.” A brief shudder went down Chill’s spine, and he added, “I don’t get why you call this place, “Paradise.” It’s more of a, well, I don’t know… “Para-DANGER.””

The heroic square chuckled at the pun, floating ahead of Chill by a few feet. Forget his earlier apprehension; anyone who made jokes like that couldn’t be up to anything bad.

“Yeah, but at least pink isn’t the danger anymore. It’s… kinda a big deal, saving the lost color of the rainbow.” Cyan’s tone briefly took on a boastful tone, and they hummed in musing. “Like I said, I’m a big hero here.”

Chill’s expression briefly twitched. His smile dropped for a second, and he tried to change the subject.

“Hey, what’cha got there?” He was pointing at something. Cyan followed his gaze to the pamphlet in their hand, which was crumpled beyond repair.

Holding up the ruined booklet, the square hummed, “Oh, this?” They grimaced as they spied the cover title again, tossing it aside with a groan. “Just some “enchiridion of hue” nonsense. No big deal, unlike me.”

Despite the distasteful description, Chill seemed interested. He rushed to catch the booklet, dashing back up to meet Cyan.

“Why would you just throw that away? I.. I’ve been, um… researching hue… this could be a lifesaver!”

Cyan scowled, rolling their eyes. “I doubt it.” They began to tire of the conversation, listlessly floating in circles, watching blue sparks trail behind themselves. “That thing had more than fact to say about  _ pink  _ shapes in particular. It’s probably just some opinionated drivel.”

Chill shook his head, a glimmer of desperation clear in his gaze. He flipped through the packet, eye growing wide with wonder. He dashed to catch up with Cyan, who had begun to depart, catching them by the arm.

On reflex, they jerked away, glaring at Chill with a threatening leer. He winced, shrinking back. His eyes widened, and he smiled nervously.

“Do… do you know who wrote this?” He held up the pamphlet. “This could really help me, please. I need some info, Cyan.”

His tone sounded despaired, and if Cyan squinted, they could see the other shape’s glow lessen. Cyan didn’t want any shape to have to listen to Composer, but… this guy seemed so upset already. It didn’t seem like even Composer’s words could worsen his mood.

Relenting, the square sighed, turning back to face Chill.

“Alright, see that little cafe?” They pointed towards the building they’d just left, their tone bored. Chill seemed engaged, however, his eye lighting up with hope. “I just left there. The lady who wrote this junk is probably still there. Just look for a purple music note.”

Chill exploded with happiness. He began to glow brightly, like a cerulean spotlight. Cyan had to shield their eyes as the other shape rushed forth.

“Thank you!” He pulled Cyan into a sudden hug, the little square giving a shrill squeak as their bones were nearly crushed. They tried to dash away, until they recalled their inability to go through other blue shapes, letting out a defeated sigh and reluctantly returning the embrace.

Chill let them go as soon as they did, however, already moving on to the restaurant. “Thanks a million, little dude! You’re a real hero!”

With that, he broke into a mad dash, elated. His relieved laughter echoed through the sky like a bell, filled with absolute joy. 

Cyan lingered, watching him go. A small smile worked its way upon their features, and they turned to leave. However, one notion still didn’t leave them. That Deja Vu remained, prodding at their thoughts.

The longer they heard that laughter, a dim, fearful recollection swelled in their mind, inundating them with paranoid anxiety. Flashes of wide, pink eyes assaulted their memory, and they shook their head, frowning slightly.

The physical similarities could be dismissed as a coincidence. Lots of shapes looked the same; that was simple geometry. While Cyan had never seen another shape quite like Fresh, it was surely possible that there were others of his species.

But… that laughter.

That laughter was unmistakable, unforgettable. It had drilled itself into their memory, into their nightmares. Although Chill was nothing like Fresh, his voice…

It sounded exactly the same.

Hundreds of threatening notions rushed through Cyan’s mind. They hadn’t seen or heard from Fresh in days, and to their knowledge, he’d had a falling out with Blue prior to his vanishing. Blue refused to give details, but the look on their face when speaking of him hinted at a bigger problem.

Fear won over, and Cyan darted away, intent on warning the others. Fresh was no longer a villain, but if something was wrong with him, Cyan feared that it would spread like corruption.


End file.
